"Look at her, you gaby." I did look at her, and with her head on one side, and the sauciest air in the world, she was saying: "Beau-ti-ful Joe, Beau-ti-ful Joe!" I had never heard a bird talk before, and I felt so sheepish that I tried to get down and hide myself under the table.

Then she began to laugh at me.

"Ha, ha, ha, good dog sic 'em, boy.

Rats, rats! Beau-ti-ful Joe, Beau-ti-ful Joe," she cried, rattling off the words as fast as she could.
I never felt so queer before in my life, and the boys were just roaring with delight at my puzzled face.

Then the parrot began calling for Jim.
"Where's Jim, where's good old Jim?
Poor old dog.